


Snow Dreams and Coffee Beans

by theshymuffin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, adashi mentioned, but it leads to a coffee date, college students, disastrous meet cute, enough fluff to stuff your pillow, keith can knit, romelle is their sassy barista
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshymuffin/pseuds/theshymuffin
Summary: Lance didn't mean to hit the cute boy with that snowball. He especially didn't mean to spill his coffee. There's only one way to remedy the tragedy, so Lance offers to buy him another cup.





	Snow Dreams and Coffee Beans

**Author's Note:**

> what can i say? snow just inspires me to write fluff

Funny how something so beautiful can be so dangerous.

Sure, snow looks all white and innocent. But if Lance knew what would transpire that day, he may have taken one look at the blanketed street outside his window and gone right back to bed. Bed was so much safer, so much warmer.

In ignorance, he ventures into the outside world, and meets up with Pidge at their usual corner. His textbooks weigh down his backpack, his shoes slog through the snow, and the cold bites at his bare hands. To remedy this, he shoves them deep into the pockets of his olive green jacket. “What I wouldn't do for sun, and beach, and waves right now.”

“I love how cheerful you are in the morning.” Pidge hefts her own backpack and shoots him a dry look. Her fair skin is rosy from the temperature and her wild hair sticks out from underneath her lavender beanie. Her boots leave smaller footprints next to his on the sidewalk, because while it appears to have been shoveled at some point, the torrent of snowflakes is quickly undoing said effort. She's gotten used to walking fast to keep up with her friend's long legs, and she would know his early morning moods better than most people, as they walk this path through campus to get to class most days of the week. “Really, it just brightens my whole day.”

“Let's not pretend you like it either. We both know you're an ally of the night.”

In fact, Lance is still highly suspicious she even sleeps. Blame it on the weird texts he gets at 3 in the morning, and how she always manages to be dressed and ready for class before he's even fought his way out of his covers.

“Least I don't whine about the snow,” she quips.

Lance glances up from the toes of his sneakers, to take in the downfall like confetti from the clouds, and the brick buildings of their campus peppered in white, and the way other students around them seem to be smiling at the supposed wonderland that surrounds them. It softens him, just a bit.

It may not be Varadero beach, but it's nice. . . in its own cold, slushy sort of way.

The moment doesn't last long.

“Oh _Laaance.”_ Pidge elbows him in the ribs, and the corners of her lips tug up in a malicious sort of smirk. If Lance has learned anything this semester, it's that this look will always mean trouble. The kind that strikes fear in his heart. Or maybe it's just the freezing temp getting to him.

“What? What is it this time?”

Lance looks again, and it's not long before he sees exactly what she has. Several yards ahead, there's a guy in a black coat with his dark hair tied back, and wrapped around his neck, is a flash of color– a bright red scarf.

“Isn't that the guy you're always ogling from organic chem?”

“I've no idea what you're talking about.”

Her jostling intensifies. “Yeah, look!”

Lance's hands fly out his pockets and he gestures wildly for her to stop. “Pidge, cut it out.”

Pidge's pace picks up, eyes set on the flag of red ahead. “If we catch up, you can sit beside him in class.”

“Uh, not doing that.”

Though why he tries, he'll never know. Pidge's attention usually falls to homework, mischief making and memes, and listening to your friends doesn't fit in any of those boxes. Even when she's about to drag them into a freaking disaster. Like _right now._

Her feet move faster, because now Lance is chasing her, and wow. He had no idea she could run so fast.

“ _Whatareyoudoing!?”_

A few heads turn, and Lance's face warms a little against the frigid wind. He stoops to gather a handful of snow and chucks it after her. It splats on the cement at her heels, so he grabs another. She's dangerously close to reaching the boy with the red scarf. This time, Lance packs the snowball tighter, and allows himself a moment for a steadying breath, which comes out in a hazy puff that curls around his chilled lips.

His arm swings back, then out, and he lets go. He watches, and as it sails forward, he's sure it will land.

What he couldn't have foreseen, is that in that precise moment, her foot would land on a patch of ice. Her balance tips, her arms flail out, and she lands soundly on her backside. The snowball sails over her head and hits its very unintended target. . . _him._ The guy with the scarf. And as fate would have it, the projectile knocks the styrofoam cup right out his gloved hands. It goes everywhere, the dark contents marring the crisp snow.

Lance's heart stops, like it's decided this environment has become much too stressful and has handed in a resignation. He wishes he could disappear too, like the blasted snow would swallow him up or he'd vanish from the surface of the Earth forevermore. He'd take the Arctic over the chill that takes hold of him.

Pidge pops into a sitting position with a moan, eyes screwed shut. Snowflakes cling to her backpack and coat, and she's left some deformed sort of snow angel beneath her. “Owww. . .”

“Pidge!” Lance jolts forward, the first to recover. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“Nah. I just hope my laptop is okay.”

Concern for his friend overshadows the presence of the cute guy with the scarf. His numb hands grapple for her arm, but as she rises from the sidewalk, there is someone else helping her up. Scarf guy has her by the other arm. They help her find her feet together. As Lance straightens back to his full height, he's left face to face with him. With gray eyes, the color of the sky on a winter day, just like this one. A still stunned Pidge is the only thing that separates them.

For all the glances Lance sneaks from across the classroom, this is the first time they've been in proximity. He takes to studying him, like one of those brain games where you see an image and try to remember every detail you possibly can before it disappears. He stares like cute scarf boy will really vanish at any moment.

Lance has always thought his longer hair stupid cute, but with the white flakes that cling to his dark locks, it's just a bit more striking. This is the first time he sees the little scar that runs over the boy's cheekbone. And now they both freeze, locked in the respective gazes of blue and that strange, beautiful gray.

“You sure you're alright?” The lovely eyes flicker down to Pidge, and his eyebrows draw together with sincere concern. He even brushes a bit of slush off her shoulder, in a gentle way that releases a swarm of butterflies in Lance's stomach. “That looked like it hurt.”

The exchange shouldn't make him feel jealous, but it does.

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “I'm a lot tougher than I look. Thanks for the assist though. . . uh?”

“Keith.”

Lance lets go of her, and he hides his hands back in his pockets, this time for something more than the cold. “Sorry, that was my bad.” His shy gaze flits to Keith, to find he's already watching. “I wasn't aiming for you, I swear.”

“Nice shot, though.” Keith then bends to pick up the slush covered cup and lid. “Maybe I should thank you. Drinking as much coffee as I do can't be healthy.”

Sometimes, words are easy. Even flirting comes naturally to Lance. Like breathing. But right now, even his lungs seem to be failing.

“C'mon, Pidge.” His hands have jammed so deep into his pockets, it tugs his jacket tight across his shoulders. “We'll be late for class.”

She links an arm with him before he can walk past her. “Hey, y'know what? I actually feel really cold after wiping out, like my socks are wet and my pants are wet and snow is kind of like sand, it gets everywhere. Y'know what would really help warm me up, Lance?”

“No,” he says insistently.

“Hot coco.”

Lance doesn't stop, and she refuses to stop clinging to him, and so ends in dragging her several paces. “And?”

“And, don't you feel bad for Keith? You sniped his coffee. That's a crime against humanity if I ever saw one. You should offer to get him some more.”

Lance stops.

This time, her voice is hushed, whispering like the north wind in his ear. “I'm tired of hearing you pine about this guy. When are you going to get a better chance to make a move?”

First of all _pining_ seems a bit dramatic. Second of all, Lance didn't even know the guy's name until a minute ago. Third? Well this hasn't exactly been a charming introduction.

He really shouldn't have looked back. Because when he does, when he sees Keith still watching them, something guarded but bordering on hopeful in his wintery eyes, he caves like that disaster of an igloo he and his cousins built in 8th grade.

Backtracking feels like marching to some fated demise. Pidge has released her hold on him, and doesn't follow, which leaves Lance completely alone to fend for himself as he fights battles with butterflies and jitters and every other sort of nerve you can imagine screaming at him to run.

“Hey.”

Keith adjusts the red at his neck, almost like a nervous tick. “Uh, hi, again.”

“I still feel bad about your coffee.” Ok, this isn't so bad, right? He can do this. “Could I. . . buy you one to replace it, maybe?”

“You mean, right now?”

Lance scuffs his shoe in the snow before he can stop himself. “I mean, yeah? Like, only if you'd want.”

“I thought you had class.”

“Yeah.”

His eyes blink wider, and the warmth that flushes his ivory skin sends Lance spiraling into some deep, deep hole he's not sure he can get out of. “Oh.”

Keith sticks in his head, like the way the sun feels on your skin, or what it's like to have someone hug you tight, or getting stuck on a song on repeat for days. If this is a hole, if it's some sort of trap, Lance isn't sure it's the kind he wants out of.

“Well, alright,” Keith supplies.

“Really?”

Keith laughs. He just laughs, and it's like music. The kind that makes your heart dance. “Yeah, really.”

Lance looks over his shoulder, enough to catch Pidge flash him a thumbs up. This is just the sort of thing she'll gloat about for months and months. Yet somehow, the prospect doesn't irritate him. If it involves Keith, he's pretty sure it's the kind of thing he'll like being reminded of.

“Well, alright. Do you have a favorite cafe nearby?” The emptied cup in Keith's hands catches Lance's eye, so he points to its logo, a pink crescent moon. “Should we go there?” He squints closer. “Altean Alchemy?”

“Sure. It's where I usually go.”

“Great.” Lance tugs out his phone. “Should I pull it up, or do you want to lead the way?”

“It's not that far. Maybe a quarter mile walk? I can show you.”

So they start walking. Keith pauses long enough to discard the cup in a trash bin, then takes the lead headed east. It seems they've both taken a sudden interest in their feet, stealing only occasional shy glances at their companion. They're quiet until they reach the fringes of campus, where food joints, and book shops, and dime stores grow in frequency.

“I know we have a couple classes together,” Keith says, “but I don't even remember your name.”

“It's Lance.”

“Lance.”

The way he says it, like he's trying on a new pair of shoes or something, sets Lance back on edge. While he seems to be doing better at breathing, the whole suave and sweet talking thing seems to be taking longer to check back in.

As they wait on traffic to cross an intersection, Lance shifts on his feet, a deep shiver rattling at his bones. It doesn't go unnoticed, and now the soft look of concern Lance had been so envious of is aimed at him.

“You look cold. Are you alright?”

“It's fine. Just more of a summer kinda guy.”

“No wonder when you're dressed like that.”

“Like what?” Lance asks in offense.

“Here.” Keith opens his bookbag, and pulls out something in vibrant blue. It's soft, and looks so very warm. He untangles it, to reveal a scarf, just like his own, aside from the color. “You can put this on.”

Lance just stares dumbly at it. Keith takes the silence as acceptance, and proceeds to wind the scarf around his neck. He has to stretch on his toes to reach high enough, because wow, Keith seems so much smaller up close. And somehow, they end up very close.

The traffic light has changed by now, but neither takes notice.

Lance feels immediate warmth. The kind that flutters in his stomach. Not so much because of the woolly blue knit, but at feeling every point of contact, the soft brush of Keith's fingertips as he takes the time to adjust the scarf so it lays just right. Because of the way his touches send little jolts through him. At the collar of his jacket, and especially when the back of his hand brushes the corner of Lance's jaw.

Their breaths mingle in the space that has become so, so small between them. That is until Lance's lungs forget how to do their job. Keith's eyebrows are drawn together as he concentrates deeply on the task of bundling him up. Lance wishes he had something to do besides feel every fibre of his being burning to surge closer, and without thought his eyes drop to pale, slightly chapped lips.

“There.” Keith draws away, and closes the flap of his bag. “Better?”

Lance swallows. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

As they cross the street, his hand travels upward to study the soft knit. Every stitch is so neat, the work tidy, but he still guesses that it is handmade. He remembers how his abuela would knit a baby blanket whenever another grandchild joined their family. “Did you. . . make this?” He says it in awe, not as an accusation, but he still catches the way Keith stiffens.

“Uh. Yeah. I did.”

“Whoa, I'd no idea. I mean, I always thought you were the rough and gangsta type.”

Keith snorts. “I'd no idea I gave off those vibes.”

“Oh yeah. I always thought you were trying to be mysterious.”

He's laughing again, and it makes Lance's heart skip in time. “I mean, if you want the truth, I sort of started out to help my anxiety. I'm better now, but it kind of stuck.” He tugs something else from his weathered bag, another scarf, this time in green, soft like spring grass. “I'm almost done with this one. You think. . . you think your friend might like it? Pidge? That's their name, right? Or is it just a nickname?”

A grin has cemented itself to Lance's face. “Yeah, it's Pidge. I think she'd like that a lot.”

They chatter between the rumble and bustle of traffic, and start to count how many homes and apartments still have Christmas lights strung up. Much like the sun will melt this wretched snow someday, they are beginning to warm to each other. Lance figures out that it's really easy to make Keith laugh, and soon near everything he says is a joke, because he could listen to that laugh on repeat for an eternity, and it would never get tired out.

The coffee shop approaches almost too fast. By then, they've covered music, movies, and majors. Keith is great company to distract Lance from the dreary weather. In fact, every time he catches those gray eyes, he think he might like winter just a bit more.

Altean Alchemy is white brick nestled between two apartment buildings, with large windows swirled with colorful window paint. There are stars, and planets with rings, and a rainbow drawn on. A violet neon sign lights up in the lower corner _“magic is everywhere”_ in a loopy type of font.

Maybe it's just because Lance's limbs are longer, but he reaches for the door first, and holds it open. Keith ducks his head, cheeks staining to match his scarf as he mumbles a thank you. Just like that, they're back to shy glances.

Lance rolls his eyes as he steps out of the cold. Why are coffee dates dates the cliché again? Like, you're not jittery enough? Time to pour some caffeine in ya. Makes perfect sense.

He instantly falls in love with the atmosphere of the place, though. He likes that it's little and cozy, and local instead of a chain, and its character is displayed in bright posters and records lining the far wall. Teal booths cozy against the left side, and soft lights have been strung all around. No surprise, it smells amazing, like coffee, and caramel, and baked treats. Soft jazz flits through the room, and mixes nicely with the soft murmur that comes from the tables that are taken.

“You said you come here a lot?”

“Monday through the next.”

“I think I remember my friend Hunk telling me about this place. He likes to take his girlfriend here. Apparently they have the best bagels within a mile radius of campus. He'd know, too. He's like Gordon Ramsay except simultaneously the sweetest guy you'll ever meet.” And now, Lance feels like he's rambling, but for some strange reason, Keith is still listening. You'd think he'd have grown tired of it on their walk over, but he's still listening. Like he wants to hear dumb anecdotes about his friends and he wants to hear about the exam Lance hasn't studied for yet. Like it means something to him, to know what albums he's been obsessed with lately.

A girl enters behind them, which prompts them to step up to the counter. The barista is a soft looking young woman with blonde hair that goes on forever, and an enamel pin of the cafe's logo (the pink crescent moon) hanging on the front of her powdery blue blouse. “Hello,” she says, in a unique English accent. “Oh, hey, Keith. Come for your second shot so soon?”

“Hey, Ro. I uh, spilt my first. . .” His eyes rove to Lance, who is taking in the menu, a large chalkboard as colorful as everything else in the place. “You know what you want?”

“Yeah, you?”

“I'll take a coffee, black.”

“Chai tea, please,” Lance says.

Both boys pull out their wallets, but Lance's hand flies out to Keith, finding a grip on his wrist to lower said wallet. “Nuh uh. This is on me, remember?”

“Oh.” The girl gives Keith some waggly eyebrows, her sweet demeanor completely switched to pure spunk. “Will this bill be _together?”_

Keith's cheeks are turning colors again, but Lance smacks a ten on the counter in confidence. “Yeah, if that's alright.”

“Well of course,” she coos, as she rings them up, and hands Lance the change with a soft jingle. “Your order will be right out.” As they move back to let the girl behind them order, Ro shoots Lance a brilliant smile. “Love your scarf, by the way. Goes great with your eyes.”

Keith tugs his own up to hide his face. “Maybe we should have gone somewhere else.”

“Nah, it's fine. She must like you if she's giving you such a hard time.”

He peeks one eye out. “You really think?”

“I bet you're like their number one customer.”

Keith has no argument to this.

While they wait, Lance has plenty of time to take in the cafe and décor in greater detail, though it doesn't take long for him to lose interest, and take to looking at something more intriguing. Keith's hair is slightly ruffled from the wind on the way over, barely held back by a thin black elastic. His shoes are scuffed and worn, as if he does a lot of walking. Lance hasn't been studying him long before he's caught in the act.

“What?”

“Sorry. . .” Lance tugs gently at his scarf. “It's just.”

“What?”

Lance lowers his voice, just to ensure his next words aren't caught by Ro, who is currently occupied with mixing their drinks. Not that he's embarrassed– it's mostly for Keith's sake. “I keep looking at your eyes. Has anyone told you you've really nice eyes?”

Keith laughs softly. “Me? They're just gray. Isn't that boring?”

“I don't think so.”

“Yoohoo! Prince Charming? Snow White?” Ro scoots two to go cups forward on the counter. “Your order's ready.”

Keith trudges forward. “I'm _never_ coming back again.”

“Love you too, boo,” she says with a wave. “Have a good day, you two.”

“Thanks.” Lance takes his tea in hand and gives her a smile, a bit amused that she gets under Keith's skin so easily. “You too.”

She leans forward on the rosy counter top and bats her eyelashes. “Hope to see a lot more of you around here, Charming.”

Lance bites back a “me too” and settles for a “we'll see” and a wink. He turns and follows behind Keith, who leads them to a table near the back corner. It's nearer the speakers, so the tinkling of a piano is a little louder, and it's farther from the door, which means a little warmer. It's perfect.

As they slide into booths across from each other, the seats and table are tight enough, Lance's legs long enough that their knees bump together. “Oops, sorry. Tall people probs.”

But Keith doesn't shy away. He simply shrugs, something sparking in his gaze as it runs over Lance. In fact, he leans closer. “You really think my eyes are pretty?”

“I-I don't think I said _pretty_.” Lance puts his attention on his drink, and jiggles the toasty contents inside the cup. “I called them nice.”

“Mm.” Keith takes a sip of his coffee.

“. . . But yeah.” The pressure under the table makes him weak kneed, yet somehow makes him brave enough to go on. “I've thought they're pretty for a while, actually.”

Keith almost chokes on his drink.

“Sorry.” Lance snickers. “Bad timing.”

He takes a long swig of tea, and lets the deep, slightly bitter flavor wash over his tongue. It sends even more warmth into his insides and makes him feel sort of fuzzy. Now that the cold and the frightfully frigid wind isn't biting into him, he's left to fully feel the sensation of touch, and the tickle of butterflies. He nudges Keith's foot under the table.

“So tell me about your family.”

Keith brushes a bit of dark hair from his eyes. “There's not that much to tell. My mom took off when I was still too young to really remember her. My dad was a firefighter, and died in a fire when I was twelve. My guardian is only like eight years older than me, but he's pretty cool. He helped me get out of a lot of trouble when I was in my teens. Gave me a second chance, I guess.” Keith pauses long enough to take another drink.

“Wow. I'm sorry.”

“Most of his family lives in Japan, so they're not in the picture much. He is engaged, though.” This seems to bring a smile to his face, and Lance is glad for it. Keith has too nice a smile to be wasted, and in the warm glow of the cafe lights, it looks near angelic. “His fiancé's name is Adam. Hella gay, both of them. They're all gross and in love and junk.”

“You're one to talk.” Lance chuckles. “We're literally on a date right now.”

The panicky look that Keith sends him makes Lance bite at his tongue. He supposes this is the first time it's been explicitly acknowledged as a date. Maybe he stepped out of line? Maybe he's just. . . read everything terribly wrong?

Like, what did he think this was? Lance told him he had pretty eyes, for pete's sake.

“Sorry I. . .” But Lance feels the softness of the scarf, and remembers how Keith took such care to bundle him up. He can feel their feet mingling and their knees still touching, hidden from sight under the table. “This _is_ a date, right?”

Keith leans forward, as if he's about to reveal some dark secret. “Lance, I'm sorry. . . but if you were trying to be discrete, you've done a really poor job.”

“You hesitated!”

He averts his gaze. “I just. . . I guess I didn't expect to enjoy it this much.”

“Wow. Well, thanks, buddy.”

“Lance.” Keith's eyes draw him in, and trap him in silver. “I'm serious. You surprised me. That's fair, right? I think you're super nice. And pretty. What do you say? Go out with me again?”

“Really?”

The boy opposite him laughs. “Yeah, really.”

And so the hole Lance has found himself in grows deeper and deeper. If only he'd thrown that snowball a fraction to the right or left, they may not be here. As much as he'd like to think he's got rad aim, as much as Pidge will fight for credit, it feels like more than a crazy accident or result of random circumstance. Lance doesn't know what the heck to call it, but he knows whatever is to come, whatever is in store for them, it's gotta be legendary.

On their way out, Ro waves at them, and Lance looks forward to future coffee dates wherein they can team to tease Keith. On their way down 11th street, Lance musters the courage to hold Keith's hand, and it helps to keep him warm as they venture through the snow. Time slips by in such a wonderful haze of a way, that Lance forgets all about Pidge's hot coco until they're stepping back onto campus. Yet somehow he suspects she won't mind a single bit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> your feedback in the comments and your kudos make the world a sparklier, more positive space, just like stars ☆☆☆  
> thank you for taking the time to read through this work, and for your support. if you have an interest in more voltron content, i do have a couple other fics up and more to come in the future. have a lovely day sweetheart, sun or snow!


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